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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24638458">you're going down</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainbowshoes/pseuds/rainbowshoes'>rainbowshoes</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Walking Dead (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Animal Death, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dogs, Feelings, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Kittens, M/M, Major Character Injury, Marked complete for now, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Rape/Non-con Elements, Some people are alive, Suicidal Thoughts, Violence, author might continue depending on reader response, frank discussion of death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 09:55:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>21,451</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24638458</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainbowshoes/pseuds/rainbowshoes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A part of Daryl, somewhere in the back of his mind, always found it a little bit amusing when Jesus got on his knees for him. There was something about that position that seemed almost sacrilegious. Jesus himself kneeling for a rough, grizzled, old redneck like Daryl? He had his whole zen thing going for him, sure, but he was also more than fifteen years younger than Daryl - at least - and he was the closest thing to any sort of god Daryl would ever believe in.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Daryl Dixon/Jesus</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>80</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. but you got the message now</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>A part of Daryl, somewhere in the back of his mind, always found it a little bit amusing when Jesus got on his knees for him. There was something about that position that seemed almost sacrilegious. Jesus himself kneeling for a rough, grizzled, </span>
  <em>
    <span>old </span>
  </em>
  <span>redneck like Daryl? He had his whole zen thing going for him, sure, but he was also more than fifteen years younger than Daryl - at least - and he was the closest thing to any sort of god Daryl would ever believe in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daryl combed his fingers through Jesus’ hair gently, brushing it back from his face. He always felt like he might break this man, though he’d seen Jesus take on bigger and stronger people and win. He was deceptively slender, deceptively strong. That feeling never left him, though, and he was always cautious, always tender. He didn’t know if Jesus appreciated it or not. They didn’t talk about it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jesus took him into his mouth, and Daryl bit down on his lower lip. He didn’t make sounds, though Jesus did his best to coax them out of him sometimes. It was learned behavior, at this point in the fucking apocolypse - sound attracted the dead, and they only ever did this sort of thing away from the communities. They went on runs together, scavenging things for their communities together. They split everything fifty-fifty, and a portion of that fifty-fifty split always went to Kingdom and Oceanside, as well, but they got first pick. Lube and condoms had absolutely become another first priority item - for them, and for everyone else. His moaning and carrying on now, in the old storage building they’d been clearing unit-by-unit, would bring the dead down on them in a heartbeat, and they couldn’t afford that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He threaded his fingers in Jesus's hair and dragged his nails along his scalp, watching the way his eyelids fluttered and the way his lips and throat worked. It felt fucking amazing, it always did, but there was something </span>
  <em>
    <span>extra</span>
  </em>
  <span> about watching, too. Daryl didn't question it. He'd learned not to. Seven years ago, the dead got up and started walking around. He'd let go of all the bullshit his daddy and Merle had spewed at him his whole life, and he'd figured out what was actually important: family - the one he chose - and friends - the ones he knew were going to die but did anything to protect anyway. Jesus was somewhere between those two categories, but Daryl didn't question why or how or what that meant, and he certainly didn't bring it up to the man himself. Jesus didn't do attachments. Everyone knew that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was just sex. He knew that. He’d accepted it a long time ago. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jesus’ mouth slid further down on Daryl’s cock, and Daryl’s fingers tightened in his hair, yanking at it when Jesus jerked his head back. It had been an accident, and his fingers relaxed immediately, but Jesus was already pulling away, his shoulders stiff, his eyes hard and cold and distant. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They didn’t talk about this, either. Daryl knew Jesus needed the gentle touch. He didn’t know why. Jesus was always more than willing - but the moment something went just a little bit too rough, he pulled away, eyes distant. This time, his shoulders were rounded and his arms wrapped around himself. He was still on his knees. Daryl silently cursed himself and was quick to tuck himself back inside his jeans before zipping up and crouching down in front of Jesus. He kept his hands to himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was quiet for a long time, waiting to see if Jesus would come out of it himself. They were all fucked up at this point. They’d all seen and done too much. Daryl had done this himself while on runs with Jesus. There’d been a little girl, once. A fresh dead one. She’d been maybe eight or nine and blonde with short hair. She’d reminded him entirely too much of Sophia, and he’d lost himself to how desperately he’d searched for that little girl, how much it had meant to him to find her, how much it had meant to him because, in his mind, if Sophia was alive, maybe Merle was, too. Jesus had let him sit through it for five minutes or so, and when he hadn’t come back from it - because thinking of Sophia had reminded him of too much else - he’d coaxed Daryl back to the present. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jesus didn’t move a single inch. His eyes were big and glassy, locked on some dark shape further back in the storage unit. They’d cleared a lot of the units - mostly just going through them and grabbing one or two things and moving on because a lot of it was useless junk - and they’d taken a break in this one to have their little moment of fun while they were waiting on a small herd to pass. They were in D.C., and while the pickings were still pretty good, the herds were far more dangerous. Being silent and stealthy was the key, so Jesus and Daryl were two of the select few who could manage the trip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t have any way to tell how much time had passed, but it had probably been long enough that he should start getting Jesus to come back around. “Jesus,” he murmured, his voice low and rough and not nearly gentle enough. “You good?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No response. That was a little concerning. Daryl knew better than to touch him, though. He hated it when anyone tried to touch him when he wasn't prepared for it. He didn’t know what Jesus prefered, but he wasn’t going to touch the guy without asking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Jesus," he called again, his voice just a little louder, a little more urgent. Not so much as a twitch from the other guy. "Christ." He rolled his eyes and shifted his feet so he could move if he had to. "Paul." He thought trying the guy's real name might help.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It did. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The response was almost instant. Jesus snapped to attention, his focus on Daryl's face. He also jerked away from him, sliding back by several inches until they were about two feet apart. They couldn't get much further apart in the small unit, not unless Jesus left. Daryl was worried he'd do exactly that. It wouldn't be the first time Jesus had run off on his own. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You good?" Daryl asked. Jesus nodded once. Daryl grabbed the bag he always carried with him on these runs and dug out a battered metal water bottle he'd found a while ago. He passed it over without a word, and Jesus accepted it. He drained most of it, which wasn't a surprise. They had portable water filters, though, so as long as they could find some water somewhere, they'd be fine. The scavengers always took the portable filters with them when they went on runs these days. One of the guys had gotten dysentery and died because of it. He'd been on his own, and no one knew, so when he got out of his house, he managed to kill four people before anyone took him down. The fresh ones were always harder to kill - and smarter, too. So the scavengers were extra cautious, now, and none of them lived alone anymore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Thanks," Jesus said quietly, passing the bottle back to Daryl. It was almost empty, but Daryl didn't mention it, just finished it off and crammed it back into the bag. "Ready to move on?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daryl nodded. It was pretty clear Jesus didn't want to talk about it, so he wasn't going to bring it up. They got moving, sliding out of the unit and making their way through the last six in the building that had stuff inside them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They hit gold on the final unit. The dead one inside was easy to take down. But he'd clearly been one of the survivalist hoarder types. He had the biggest unit in the building, 20 feet by 30, and it was crammed almost wall to wall with supplies of all sorts. Jesus laughed softly, and Daryl couldn’t help but smile at the back of his head. He was careful to keep those sorts of smiles where Jesus couldn’t see them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s go get the truck,” Jesus said. “We’ll sort as we load?” Daryl nodded in agreement and they dragged down the roll-up door slowly so it didn’t rattle around and make too much noise. They made their way back to the truck they usually took on runs these days - it was a big one that reminded Daryl of the truck he and Rick, Glen, and T-Dog had taken into Atlanta so long ago to find Merle. Or the truck Jesus had tried to steal from them that wound up in the bottom of a pond. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They shifted boxes one by one, grabbing things like batteries and water purification tablets, first aid supplies, sacks of rice, tarps and sleeping bags and blankets, a whole pallet of salt, MREs, and smaller stacks of other things like machetes and hatchets and multitools, handsaws, scissors, fishing line, hooks, a couple fishing poles, snare wires, a few different knives, a sewing kit, and a few rolls of duct tape. There were large quantities of some things and not nearly enough of others, but they’d take and use everything they could - even if they didn’t immediately need it. They sorted as they went, some, but everything wound up on the truck, anyway. They’d started taking the big truck because all their runs had to be further and further away, and it wasn’t worth it to come back with just one car load of supplies. The truck made it easier to bring back more, though they usually had to stay for much longer to fill it up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sun was close to setting by the time they’d finished. Jesus was standing with a machete in one hand as Daryl loaded up the last box. “Should we call it for tonight, head to that subdivision we found?” Daryl nodded. It would take half an hour or more to get to the subdivision, and by then the sun would have set. It wasn’t quite winter, but it was getting colder and colder. It would start snowing, soon. He shut the door on the back and closed the handle to keep it shut. He climbed into the cab of the truck and Jesus climbed into the passenger’s seat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They drove in silence to the subdivision of ultra-rich houses they’d passed. It was a lot like Alexandria had once been - but even nicer. They would probably find a few things worth taking back. The nice houses usually had stuff like that, if they hadn’t all been looted yet. They grabbed their bags and broke into one of the houses, running through it to make sure it was clear and then setting about securing it for the night. Daryl backed the truck up to the garage door until it was bare inches away, just in case they had to make a quick getaway. That little trick had saved their asses twice already, and he wouldn’t settle for the night until it was done. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Back inside, Jesus was building a fire in the opulent fireplace using broken pieces of furniture and other scraps from around the house. Over to the side, there was a giant soup pot full of water with a couple purification tablets still dissolving. Daryl lowered himself to the floor in front of the fire and sighed quietly before digging into his bag. He had a few apples and a container full of venison jerky he’d made himself just last week. It was pretty good, all things considered. There had been a loaf of bread and a chunk of cheese, too, but he and Jesus had eaten those first. Jesus grabbed a jar of peanut butter from the floor and sat it beside Daryl as he sliced the apples for them both. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Found that in the pantry,” Jeus said as he unscrewed the lid and shoved a spoon into the brown goop. “I haven’t had peanut butter in months.” Daryl tossed a couple apple slices at him and stuffed the seeds he’d taken from them into a little plastic bag. He always kept the seeds, even if it wasn’t quite so urgent these days. He kept his eyes on the rest of the apple, even as Jesus crunched on his pieces. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They ate the rest of their little dinner in silence. Jesus poked around the living room until he found a deck of cards, then delt himself a hand of solitaire. Daryl dragged one of the throw pillows from the couch over to the fire and stretched out, grimacing at the sound of his joints cracking and popping. Jesus raised an eyebrow at him, but Daryl ignored it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shut his eyes, instead, listening as Jesus gathered his cards and shuffled them and delt himself a new round. “Thank you, for earlier,” Jesus said, his voice quiet and subdued. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daryl didn’t open his eyes. “Ain’t like you ain’t had t’ do the same for me,” he said, nothing but honesty in his voice. “Don’t worry ‘bout it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jesus played a little longer, then he sighed, and Daryl could hear him slump, his hands falling to his lap. He could hear his hair sliding over his leather-clad shoulder. He sucked in a deep breath, and Daryl knew right then that he wasn’t going to like whatever Jesus said next.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was Gregory.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daryl opened his eyes. He turned his head to the side, the hand on his chest clenching into a fist. “What’d he do?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jesus was staring at the cards in his hand, but Daryl knew he wasn’t seeing them. The far-away look was in his eyes again. Daryl sat up slowly, but he didn’t reach out - didn’t touch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When I first got to Hilltop, I wasn’t in the best shape,” Jesus said, his voice quiet. “Gregory knew that. Told me I owed him for all the medical supplies they were using to get me better. Stitches, bandages, painkillers, antibiotics, basic care, food, water. All of it.” Daryl was reminded, uncomfortably, of Negan and his goddamn points system. He dug his fingers into his calf. “I couldn’t go out and scavenge, not right away - not for weeks, actually.” The self-deprecating laugh made Daryl want to break something. “Gregory said if I didn’t agree to his demands, he’d kick me out - send me right back out there with the dead.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jesus looked up at him, and Daryl felt his cold anger die a quick death under a wave of concern for the wetness he could see in Jesus’ eyes. He wanted to wrap him up in one of those hugs he sometimes gave Rick or Carl or Judith or Tara or Aaron - the way they sometimes returned them to him. He held up his arm, giving Jesus the option. He wouldn’t ask, wouldn’t push, but he wanted Jesus to know he could have it if he wanted it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Jesus immediately dropped all the cards and scattered them as he slid across the floor, Daryl was relieved he’d made the right choice. Jesus wrapped both arms around Daryl’s neck, and Daryl wrapped his arms around Jesus’s waist, squeezing him tight. He grunted softly when Jesus settled on his lap, but he didn’t let up his hold, not in the slightest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t want to die,” Jesus whispered against Daryl’s neck. “I did whatever the fuck he wanted until I was strong enough to go out and scavenge. I was so fucking afraid of him, of what he could do to me if I told him no. It was months before anyone trusted me. When - when you guys got there, yeah, I was the go-between for everyone and Gregory, but it wasn’t always like that. It hadn’t even been that way for that long.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daryl tightened his arms even more. “If he wasn’t already dead, I’d fuckin’ kill ‘im,” he swore quietly. “I’d make him suffer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jesus laughed. “That’s sweet.” He didn’t let go, but his hold was less of a death-grip. “I never told anyone. I haven’t even told </span>
  <em>
    <span>Maggie</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You ain’t gotta,” Daryl said, “but Maggie - she’d get it.” He thought of the Governor, again. He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to Jesus’ shoulder. “I get it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thought you might,” Jesus whispered. His fingers tangled in Daryl’s hair and tugged his head back. He looked Daryl in the eyes for a long moment, then he leaned forward and kissed him deeply. Daryl tightened his fingers in Jesus’ coat, keeping him firmly in place. It didn't last long, but that wasn't the point. Jesus slumped against him, resting his head on Daryl's shoulder and curling his body close to Daryl's chest. Daryl held him tight, not quite ready to let him go. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They sat like that until Daryl's left leg had fallen asleep and Jesus began to mutter about his knees hurting. Daryl helped him slide over to the side, but he kept Jesus close, didn't let him go to slide across the room where he'd been earlier. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Jus' stay close," he said, voice low - almost pleading. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jesus closed his eyes and nodded once. Daryl grabbed the blanket from the floor and dragged it closer to them before stretching out on his back. Jesus went to the fire to bank it, then he sat down by Daryl's hip. Daryl wrapped an arm around his back and tugged him down to lay on his chest. Jesus curled up on his side with his head resting on Daryl's shoulder, one hand tentatively resting on Daryl's stomach. Daryl linked their fingers with one hand and wrapped his other arm around Jesus' back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sleep," he murmured. "I'll keep watch." Jesus nodded against his shoulder, his hair tickling Daryl's chin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Thanks. I, uh. I know -"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Tomorrow," Daryl insisted. "You still wanna say it, tell me tomorrow." Jesus sighed softly, but he didn't try to say anything else. It took about fifteen or twenty minutes before his body relaxed and began twitching. Daryl smiled slightly to himself, content with Jesus curled up beside him like this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knew he couldn't really have this. He'd accepted it a long time ago. But he'd enjoy it for now, just having Jesus close. He didn't let many people so close, and he knew he had a tendency to latch on once he </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> allow it. Jesus wasn't the type for relationships, though, and he'd known that since the beginning - or close to it. He should have known better than getting close to the man, but it had been more or less inevitable with the way their communities pushed them together all the time. Thinking about it that way, he wondered if Maggie and Rick hadn't been trying to set them up. Well, joke was on them. Jesus wasn't interested, and Daryl wasn't going to bother asking. Sex was where they drew the line. Even the talking and hugging was probably a one-time thing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was fine, though. He was used to it. At least this way Daryl probably wouldn't hurt as bad when Jesus inevitably died. Or maybe Jesus wouldn't mourn him when he died. He hoped not. Chances were, Daryl would die first. He was older. He was getting slower, too. Too many injuries. He was fucking fifty-one. He'd been shot and stabbed and fucked up ten ways from Sunday, and he knew he wouldn't last much longer out here. Not another ten years, that was damn sure. So it was better that they fucked and didn't talk about it. Easier. No one had to cry over anyone's empty grave. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn't wake Jesus until it was just a couple hours til dawn. He couldn't go two or three days without sleep anymore, but he didn't need too much. Jesus pressed a soft kiss to his cheek - something else that was new - and moved to build up the fire. Daryl drew the blanket up higher. It was colder without Jesus' body pressed along his side to keep him warm. He could feel the heat from the fire and hear it cracking as he fell asleep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn't dream. He rarely did. Most of the time, if he </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> see anything in his sleep, it was a nightmare. He was glad, when Jesus woke him, that he'd slept well, even if it hadn't been that long. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They didn't talk about anything. He was aware of Jesus giving him looks all day long, but they were too busy for Daryl to make a thing of it. They cleared every house in the subdivision, grabbing pots and pans, old sporting gear, fishing poles, clothes, pillows and blankets, and other things. Daryl almost wished he had the space to take one of the king sized mattresses back with him, but he didn't bother to suggest it. It would be too much of a pain in the ass, and then everyone would want one. His double was just fine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They left the subdivision and headed a little further into the city to a strip mall along one of the major roads. They cleared it of everything useful, then found a big superstore. It would stink to high heaven, but the potential made it more than worth it. There was a whole block of apartments near it, too, so they had a good place to go for the night. They made up a quick plan for taking the superstore - the first time they'd said more than a couple words at a time all day - and got to work. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time they were finished with the store, the truck was full to bursting and they still hadn't gotten everything they wanted from it. They locked it in a back room to, hopefully, keep the stuff secure until they were able to come back for it, and then went to the apartments to sleep until dawn. Traveling at night was inadvisable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There weren't fireplaces in these buildings, but Jesus and Daryl gathered a pile of blankets and dropped them on the floor in the main room of the apartment they chose to sleep in for the night. They ate again, digging into some of the MREs this time. The m&amp;ms were stale, but Daryl hadn't had chocolate in so long they were still worth it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We'll head home tomorrow," Jesus said, passing the m&amp;ms to Daryl. Daryl gave him his last apple in exchange, and Jesus sliced it up to eat it with peanut butter. "We'll be back a whole week ahead of schedule, but I doubt we'll find another working truck or enough gas to get a second one home." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daryl hummed in agreement. He tossed an m&amp;m in the air and caught it in his mouth. Jesus gave him a small, uncharacteristically shy smile. Daryl rolled his eyes and threw an m&amp;m at him instead. Jesus laughed softly when it hit his cheek and bounced into his lap. They fell silent again as they finished up their food and did away with the trash - Jesus gathering it all together and actually putting it in the trash can like someone might come around and yell at him if he didn't. Daryl didn't say anything about it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'd still like to say what I was trying to say last night," Jesus said once they'd settled in their pile of blankets once more. They weren't wasting batteries on keeping a lantern glowing just to talk, so it was nearly pitch dark in the room. The moon let in just a little light. Daryl could see Jesus' bright eyes and the shape of his face, the shadow of his hair falling over one shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You sure?" Daryl asked, giving Jesus one last chance to back out, to not say whatever he had planned, to not ruin what they had between them. What they had wasn't great - probably wasn't all that healthy, even - but it worked for them, and he'd take it. He didn't want it to end.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jesus nodded, though, and Daryl hardened himself to whatever criticisms Jesus was about to lay at his feet. Back when they'd started, Jesus had told him he wasn't interested in a relationship - that he probably wouldn't ever want that, and that if Daryl found himself feeling that way, he should let Jesus know so they could stop. Daryl had never said a word about how he felt. Knew better than to do such a stupid as fuck thing. Sure, his brother wasn't around to beat on him for it - neither was his daddy around to kill him for it - but that didn't mean Daryl was okay with the consequences. It would mean not going on runs with Jesus anymore - or at the least going on far fewer runs. It would mean more distance. They already lived in two separate communities and only really saw each other or spoke on runs. If Jesus ended things now, Daryl would probably head out to the Kingdom to go stay with Carol for a while. Figure out a place to settle on his own, away from everyone else. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was an abandoned farm about a hundred miles west. They'd found some animals there, still living and doing okay for themselves. Daryl could reinforce the fences, reinforce the doors. He could live alone again. Maybe visit Alexandria once in a while for supplies. He needed to find a good hole to die in, though, and that old farm was as good a place as any. In their world, 51 was damn near ancient. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Daryl," Jesus said softly. He looked over at him again and forced himself to pay attention. It would be rude to tune out now, even if he knew what was coming. Jesus shifted and tugged at the blanket he'd dragged up to wrap around his shoulders. "I know you, um. That you have feelings for me." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daryl rolled his eyes. "Christ, just fuckin' spit it out already. Won't have to see me again after tomorrow." He knew he sounded too mean, too angry. Too hateful. He had always been good at pushing people away, keeping them at arm's length. "Hell, you ain't gotta see me after t'night if you don't wanna. I can find my own damn way back. Done it before." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Stop." Jesus' voice was cool, calm. Collected. Daryl hated that zen shit. "I'm not going to make you find your own way back to Alexandria." He paused, and Daryl could see that he was pushing his fingers through his hair. "You love me." Daryl didn't deny it. "I'm utter shit at relationships. I told you that. And I also told you to tell me if you started feeling any kind of way so we could stop what we were doing. But…" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I never tried doin' anythin' different," Daryl said, still too defensive. "Knew you didn't want that shit, so I jus' kept my mouth shut. Don't see what harm it did." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Can you stop talking and just listen for two minutes?" Jesus asked, his zen breaking down into frustration. Daryl closed his mouth and grunted at him. "You are so fucking infuriating sometimes, Daryl Dixon, but goddammit, I love you too, okay? I didn't want to talk about it before because I figured it would go away or - something would happen and it wouldn't matter anyway. You'd die or move on or I'd move on or </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span>. But it didn't. And it's - it's just getting worse. I hate watching you go back to Alexandria every time without me. I hate being out on these runs knowing that any fucking second could be my last and you still don't know how I feel or that I really just - I want to be with you. More than we have been. The sex is great, yes, but I want - fuck. I want to argue over stupid shit with you and sleep next to you and tell you how worried I am for you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daryl didn't move or say anything. Jesus fidgeted in place across from him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Why aren't you saying anything?" Jesus asked, finally, sounding both a little nervous and a little irritated. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ain't been two minutes," Daryl said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Jesus Christ," Jesus said, and Daryl could see him well enough to watch him roll his eyes. "Just say what you want to say."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're a fuckin' idiot," Daryl said immediately. "Coulda just fuckin' said somethin'. Ain't gotta be some big deal." Daryl waved one hand in the air, mocking him. "Fuck, I ain't no goddamn teenager, and I ain't been one for a long damn time. Arguin' over stupid shit? Just do whatever the fuck you want and if I got an issue, I'll tell you. I ain't pickin' fights like my mama did with my daddy. All it ever did was get her beat, and I ain't playin' that shit. I ain't movin' to Hilltop, I ain't givin' up goin' out on runs just yet, and I ain't gonna quit smokin'. Anythin' else, you figure it out." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jesus was quiet for a long pause, then he started laughing. Daryl threw a pillow at him, and he hid his face in it to muffle the sound. It hadn't been loud enough to get the attention of the dead down on the street, but whatever was alive above them started thumping a little. It was weak, though. When the hysterics finally settled, Jesus threw the pillow back at him and shuffled his way over to Daryl. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So I guess I'm moving to Alexandria," Jesus said quietly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ain't gotta," Daryl reminded him. Jesus pushed at his shoulder until he lay flat on his back, and then Jesus curled up on his side with his head resting on Daryl's shoulder again. Daryl curled his arm around Jesus' back and held him close. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm going to," Jesus said, almost like it was a threat. "Is Rick going to have anything to say about that?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Nah," Daryl said, shaking his head. "'Cept maybe slappin' ya upside the head for takin' s' damn long." Jesus laughed quietly against his neck, and Daryl found he loved the way that felt. "You ain't doin' this 'cause 'a me, are ya?" He had to ask. Had to know for sure. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No," Jesus said immediately. "I'm doing this because of me. Knowing how you felt… helped me decide to be honest about it, but that's all. I never expected to like you, Daryl, much less love you." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Jus' do me a favor and wait til' I'm dead 'fore you go an' find someone else," Daryl murmured. "Prolly ain't got long as it is." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Don't say that," Jesus said, his voice small and quiet and almost afraid. "Please. I - I don't want to lose you, too." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Gonna, eventually," Daryl said. "Cain't hide from it." He turned his head to the side and pressed his lips to Jesus' hair. "I'm old. Older'n you, that's for damn sure. Don't pretend I ain't. Just stay til' I'm dead an' gone. That's all I want." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yes," Jesus whispered. He lifted himself up with one hand pressed to the floor between them and kissed Daryl hard. "Yes."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Now sleep," Daryl said, nuding him to lie back down. "We'll head home tomorrow." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jesus did exactly that. It took a little longer for him to fall asleep this time, but Daryl kept watch until Jesus woke on his own about halfway through the night. There was something to be said for being a natural insomniac in the apocalypse. He slept the second half of the night, and they gathered their things and headed down to the truck as soon as they could.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The drive took nearly all day, between having to take back roads and stop to push cars out of the way. Daryl drove most of the way, with Jesus pressed right along his side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If, when they reached Alexandria a few days later, anyone noticed the new silver bands the blacksmith had made for them, then no one said a word about them. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. and it makes me want it more</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Daryl was always gentle with things he considered precious.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Daryl was always gentle with things he considered precious.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That was a fact of life Paul knew to be one hundred percent true. Yes, he'd seen Daryl use a metal pipe to beat in a man's skull - so much like Negan had done with his baseball bat - but Paul also knew that the Savior had been one of the many who had tormented him while he'd been their </span>
  <em>
    <span>guest</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He tried not to think of that too often. Social moors and actions that were considered excusable or justifiable had changed drastically since the dead started walking around. He had seen Daryl kill men and women like it was nothing, like it didn't cost him anything at all. He knew better than to believe that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Contrary to popular belief, Paul was not a pacifist. He had taken part in the killing, in the slaughter. He had picked up a gun and used it to kill people. He hadn't enjoyed it, but he had done it. He had done it to protect Hilltop, to protect Maggie and Enid, to avenge Sasha. He had saved lives, too - or, he'd tried. People were still a resource, and killing unnecessarily was still something he refused to do. But that didn't mean he couldn't understand why Daryl did it sometimes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That said, violence was not Daryl's default - no matter what Daryl himself believed to be true. Paul watched as Daryl dragged yet another kitten from under the half-rotted steps that led up to the trailer they'd found in the middle of the woods. They'd been scavenging, hunting, seeing whatever there was to see whenever they'd heard the soft, distressed cries. Paul had found the mother, dead, most of her corpse eaten. He hadn't looked too carefully to figure out exactly what had eaten her. That didn't matter, not now. No, </span>
  <em>
    <span>now</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he held a cardboard box with three small, underfed kittens mewling angrily at him. He smiled down at them, then turned that brilliant smile on Daryl as he stood, tucking two more kittens close to his chest. He was covered in mud and splattered with gore from the undead. There was a small cut on his cheek that had a streak of blood smeared across his face, probably from crawling under the rotten wood. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With the utmost care, Daryl slid both kittens into the box in Paul's lap. He took a moment to nudge all five of them close together so they could stay warm. "That's all of 'em," he said, voice gruff and quiet. "Last was already dead." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"These will be excellent help at Hilltop and the Kingdom," Jesus said, reaching into the box to stroke one of the backs of the kittens with a single gloved finger. "Think they'll be okay without their mother?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah," Daryl said with a nod. "Gotta get 'em back to Kingdom today, though. They got that supplement shit and the goats for milk. It'll help 'em 'til they can eat food and catch mice 'n shit." Daryl shrugged out of his vest and jacket combo, then took off the flannel shirt he was wearing underneath it. He still had an undershirt beneath that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Paul tried not to think too hard about </span>
  <em>
    <span>why</span>
  </em>
  <span> Daryl wore so many layers these days. He knew it was leftover from his time at the Sanctuary. He hadn't heard much about what had happened there, at least not from Daryl himself, but he knew from Dwight and Carl and Daryl's nightmares and behaviors that Daryl had been locked in a small, dark room for days and days - he reacted violently to specific song, he didn't like to be dirty anymore when, before, it had almost been a </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck you</span>
  </em>
  <span> to anyone and everyone, he hated not wearing at least two shirts, his belt, and his boots. He knew the smell of dog food made Daryl want to puke, even if he didn't. He also knew Daryl was far more paranoid about having food around than anyone else Paul knew - even compared to the rest of his group, who had all starved for days, sometimes weeks, at the time before. Sometimes he really wanted to ask about everything Daryl had been through to get to this point. Sometimes he knew that would be a terrible idea. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Instead, he held the box steady while Daryl tucked his flannel shirt in around the kittens to keep them warm. He shrugged into his jacket once more, then nodded toward the truck. "C'mon, let's get 'em to the Kingdom 'fore they starve. Gotta be hungry already." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"The kids'll love having them around," Paul said cheerfully. He lifted the box a little higher as soon as Daryl took his arm out of it and they turned toward the truck. "So much for scavenging." He grinned at Daryl, but Daryl just rolled his eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"We'll leave from the Kingdom tomorrow, head for Baltimore." Daryl climbed into the driver's seat and slammed the door, then reached over the bench seat to take the box from Paul and settle it between them on the seat. Paul settled on the other side and held the edge of the box to keep it secure. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Baltimore may have more people," Paul said quietly. He knew Daryl's opinion on inviting new people into their communities these days. He didn't blame him for it, but that was why - as soon as Paul moved to Alexandria officially - he was going to be Aaron's new recruiting partner. Daryl couldn't, not anymore, and Eric couldn't either. Eric would never be able to walk well again - he'd never be able to run or go outside of the walls, not without a lot of protection. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl just shrugged and brought his thumb to his mouth to chew on the side of it. "Don't matter. We ain't gotta bring 'em back." Paul just nodded. He wasn't going to push it. There was a slim chance they'd find anyone, anyway. He reached over and turned up the stereo instead, cracking a small smile when Daryl rolled his eyes. Paul had found a bunch of cassette tapes in a gas station not too long ago, and since several of the vehicles they drove were old enough to only have cassette players, he'd taken them all. This one in particular was a favorite of his, mostly because it annoyed Daryl. (It was a Prince album, after all - </span>
  <em>
    <span>1999</span>
  </em>
  <span>. His favorite track to play was "Let's Pretend We're Married." Maybe, just maybe, they weren't really pretending anymore. But still, the song annoyed the hell out of Daryl and it endlessly amused Paul to play it.) </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It took a few hours to make it back to the Kingdom on broken roads littered with debris. Stopping and staring, changing routes, and shifting shit out of the way all came at the price of fuel and time. Still, it had to be done. The kittens were mostly quiet by the time they arrived, mostly peeping sadly, their little noses sniffing the air sometimes. Paul let them lick water from his fingers, but he knew that wasn't what they needed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When they arrived at the Kingdom, they were greeted with smiles and hugs all around. Paul was still leery of Carol, but at least she didn't seem so fake - not like she'd tried to pretend to be while in Alexandria. He liked her better here in the Kingdom, at Ezekiel's and Morgan's sides. The three of them complimented one another. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nabila's eyes went wet with tears when she saw them. She collected Henry to her side and they took the box off to go and take care of the kittens. Carol smiled at them, then winked at Daryl. Daryl just snorted and turned away from them to ask someone else about maybe getting some food to take with them on their trip up to Baltimore. The Kingdomer agreed readily and told them they'd have a box of supplies for them by the following day. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh, Pookie," Carol said, hugging Daryl and kissing his cheek. "You brought us kittens."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Stop," Daryl muttered, rolling his eyes. Paul could see the little smile under his beard, though. "Gonna have to take a couple to Hilltop when they're bigger. Let 'em get the mice so they don't get into the root cellar and tear shit up." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Paul grinned. "That, and we couldn't just ignore some crying kittens." Daryl flushed pink, slightly. "Carol, is there a place we can wash up and change clothes? Kingdom still does dinner at seven, right?" According to the clock on the wall nearby, it was already almost six. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Go on," Carol said, nodding her head toward one of the buildings on the left. "You know where everything is, I don't have to tell you by now. Besides, you always have a home here, too. Just like at Hilltop and Alexandria." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl stepped close to her and hugged her again, and neither of them said anything about the gore. She squeezed him just as tightly as he squeezed her. "Thanks," Daryl finally muttered, letting go of her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She only nodded and patted his shoulder as he walked away, heading for the truck to grab his - and probably Paul's, too - bag. Paul looked at Carol, who was studying him with a neutral expression. "I know you don't like me much," he started.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I like you just fine," Carol interrupted. "If I didn't like you, you'd be dead. Believe me." Paul did. Very much. "I'm worried about Daryl, about you not taking this seriously, about how he's going to survive another loss - one where the person he loves doesn't die, just leaves him behind." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Paul frowned. "I'm not going to do that." She shrugged like she didn't believe him. Paul huffed a dry laugh. "I get that you're protective of him, but God, you're a bitch, do you know that?" Carol just gave him a nasty smile. "I can't prove anything to you by just promising not to leave him. I know that and you know that. We also both know that a stray bullet or a bite from the dead is as likely to kill me as the damn flu. None of us can do anything about that, either, but you want me to just, what, magically become invincible or some shit?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I don't want Daryl to get hurt again," Carol said, her voice low and quiet. "I don't - Beth -"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Stop." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They both turned. Daryl was standing with his and Paul's bags at his feet, his arms crossed over his chest. He was leaning against a nearby pillar, close enough that he'd probably heard everything they'd said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looked at Carol first. "Leave Paul alone about that shit." She opened her mouth to argue, her eyebrows drawn low and together but Daryl waved a hand at her. "Stop it. Dammit, Carol, back off 'fore I start doin' th' same shit to Zeke and Morgan. Zeke ain't got that cat no more." He said it low and threatening. Carol shut her mouth and stood straight. "And don't you dare talk 'bout Beth. It weren't like that. She's just a </span>
  <em>
    <span>kid</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Broke my heart, yeah, but it weren't like how you mean it." Carol drew her bottom lip into her mouth and looked at the ground. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"And Paul? You call her a bitch again, I'll let her shoot you." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Paul held up both hands in surrender. "Got it. Sorry. Just - was tired of always getting threatened every time she looked at me or spoke to me." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl huffed loudly, then bent and grabbed their bags. "C'mon. Ain't gonna happen no more. Is it?" He looked at Carol pointedly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"No, Pookie," she said - too innocently. "I won't threaten your boyfriend anymore." Daryl just rolled his eyes and walked away from her, leading Paul inside the building where everyone slept and into a guest room. They headed to the showers - unfortunately communal - after gathering some clean clothes and scrubbed down. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hours later, after dinner and conversation and checking in with Nabila about the kittens and getting a rather large box of food from someone else, Paul and Daryl lay in bed together, Daryl on his back and Paul curled up on his side with his head resting on Daryl's chest. They wouldn't fall asleep like that, they never did, but it was nice to just lay that way for a while. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Can I ask about Beth?" Paul asked quietly into the dark room. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl sighed. "Maggie's little sister." He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "We had a prison, once. For… a while. Bout eight months, I guess. Not a year, I know that much. Was pretty great there. Fifty-some people. Then they got sick. Had to go find meds. Then this </span>
  <em>
    <span>guy</span>
  </em>
  <span>. This </span>
  <em>
    <span>Governor</span>
  </em>
  <span>, called himself. We'd dealt with him before, but he shows up again and starts shootin'. Had Hershel, Maggie and Beth's dad, and Michonne hostage. Cut Hershel's head off with Michonne's sword. Drove their tank through our fences. We killed 'em, but… the fences were down. We couldn't save it. Had t' run. All of us got separated.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I got out with Beth. Spent days just - wanderin'. She wanted her first drink." Daryl chuckled wetly. "Found a fancy fuckin' golf place. She was gonna have fuckin' - fuckin' peach schnapps. I broke the bottle. Wouldn't let her. Took her out th' woods instead. I'd found this shack with Michonne months ago, with a distillery. We went there for a night. Holed up. Got drunk on moonshine. I made 'n ass outta m'self. 'S why I don't drink. Get fuckin' mean. Didn't - didn't hit her or nothin'," Daryl said quickly. Paul squeezed Daryl's arm. He'd seen the scars on Daryl's back and had made some guesses. This? Made it worse. "Just yelled some. We ain't had nothin' t' eat in two days, y'know? We left, 'ventually, burned it down. Found a funeral home. Stayed there a couple nights. I slept in a casket." He smiled humorlessly up at the ceiling. "She'd twisted her ankle or somethin', so she just… sat and played piano. Sang. Was… real nice. Then the walkers came and overwhelmed us. We got out, but we was separated again. She got taken."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl took another deep, controlled breath. Siddiq had taught him that. The kid might have been younger than Paul and only a resident when the shit hit the fan, but he'd known what he was doing when it came to helping Daryl. Paul was grateful. He'd told Siddiq many times that, if he ever had any special requests, to let him know. He was determined to find him a copy of the Quran on this trip, even if he hadn't explicitly asked for it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Found out she was in Atlanta, Grady Hospital. We went. Found this kid, Noah. He told us about how shit worked there. The cops ran the place and the patients became like. Orderlies or some shit. Workin' to pay off what they owed for the doc fixin' 'em up. 'Cept they were takin' people who didn't need savin', or fuckin' 'em up to begin with. Never lettin' 'em leave. Was fucked up. We took three of the cops. Tried to make a trade. Went good, then the leader. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dawn</span>
  </em>
  <span>." Paul had only ever heard Daryl spit Negan's name so hatefully. "Dawn wanted Noah back. N, Beth - Beth stabbed the bitch. Didn't let her have Noah. But that - that bitch -" Daryl's voice cracked and broke. "Shot Beth in the head. I had to carry her out to Maggie, listen to her screaming." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Paul rolled closer and squeezed Daryl tight. Daryl's arms came around him in return. "I'm so sorry," Paul whispered. He'd always had so much trouble connecting to people like that, and apparently so had Daryl, but once Daryl let people in, they were in for </span>
  <em>
    <span>life</span>
  </em>
  <span> and he never, ever forgot them. Paul was amazed by the depths to Daryl that so many people took for granted. He knew Maggie saw it. He wasn't sure Rick did, not anymore. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah, I loved Beth," Daryl said quietly. "But not - not like that."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Not romantically," Paul suggested. Daryl nodded. "That doesn't make it any less important or valuable."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah," Daryl murmured. "Yeah." He was tired. Paul could hear it in his voice. "Still miss her. You'd 'a liked her. She was sweet. Too… too good for this shit world. She survived, though. Weren't no dead thing killed her."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"She died to save her friend," Paul said quietly. "We should ask about adding her name to the memorial." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl's fingers dug into Paul's side for a brief second, then smoothed over the spot automatically, as if he'd hurt him and was apologizing for it. "I'll talk to Maggie when we go to Hilltop next."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Paul kissed Daryl's chest where his head was pressed. "I'll go with you, if you want." Daryl nodded after a moment of thought. Paul was touched, once more, by the depths to Daryl. He'd seen it before - of course he had - but it always amazed him. He slid his hand down Daryl's arm and linked their fingers together. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl could be bloody and violent and </span>
  <em>
    <span>mean</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but he wasn't naturally. He did that in defense of the people he loved, the people he called his family. He turned his head and pressed a tender kiss to Paul's temple, murmuring an apology for snapping at him about Carol. Paul just smiled and told him he'd deserved it. He had, after all. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Besides, Daryl was always gentle with things he considered precious.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. one of us is goin' down</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>It was colder than a witch’s tit in the predawn gray of the morning. The snow flurries were still drifting around them, and there was a light, thin dusting across the ground. The deer stand wasn’t comfortable, but it was high up in the tree and Paul was a warm presence against his side. Paul had brought a blanket and draped it across both their laps and had drawn it up over his shoulders. He was pressed shoulder-to-shoulder, hip-to-hip along Daryl’s side, and his head was pillowed on Daryl’s shoulder where he was dozing. He’d tried to tell Paul to just stay home and sleep, but Paul had insisted on coming along. It was fine because they never left the walls alone anymore, even if they didn't always go with each other. Daryl knew if he moved even a little, Paul would wake and shift to the side to get out of the way.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It was colder than a witch’s tit in the predawn gray of the morning. The snow flurries were still drifting around them, and there was a light, thin dusting across the ground. The deer stand wasn’t comfortable, but it was high up in the tree and Paul was a warm presence against his side. Paul had brought a blanket and draped it across both their laps and had drawn it up over his shoulders. He was pressed shoulder-to-shoulder, hip-to-hip along Daryl’s side, and his head was pillowed on Daryl’s shoulder where he was dozing. He’d tried to tell Paul to just stay home and sleep, but Paul had insisted on coming along. It was fine because they never left the walls alone anymore, even if they didn't always go with each other. Daryl knew if he moved even a little, Paul would wake and shift to the side to get out of the way. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d seen exactly one of the dead this morning, even though they’d been awake since three and in the stand since four. It was going on seven, now, and he’d seen a few things, but nothing worth shooting and bringing back to Alexandria. The winters were always hard. Fewer crops, same amount of mouths to feed. So he made it a point to go out and hunt as often as he could. He and Paul had gone back to D.C. for the rest of the haul from that superstore last month, after scoping out Baltimore, before the weather turned too bad, but they wouldn’t be able to go so far now that there was snow - and ice. If they had some kind of emergency, a bigger group would risk it, but for the most part, they’d make what they had work. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he saw the buck, he felt that first gut-punch of adrenaline that made him tense all over. It was enough to wake Paul, and he shifted silently to the side so Daryl could move freely. Daryl breathed through the surge and lifted his crossbow, fitting the stock to his shoulder and taking careful aim. Having enough arrows wasn’t a problem these days, it was the time it took to reload. His hands were badly scarred and calloused - and some of that was from dragging back the string with his fingers. He could get another arrow in his crossbow and get the string pulled back and get the stock back to his shoulder in about ten seconds, but even that was too long sometimes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He fired and Paul sucked in a sharp breath. The arrow pierced the buck just behind the foreleg and went straight through the lungs. It managed to get a few yards away before collapsing to the ground. Paul was grinning from ear to ear when Daryl looked over at him. Daryl took a moment to reload, then he dipped his head under the bar and set his boot on the ladder to head down to the ground. He’d lost more than one carcass to the dead - they’d sometimes get to them before he could, even if he hadn’t seen any around. He thought back to that time seven years ago, just outside of Atlanta, to the first time it had happened. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The memory made him rush, made him clumsy. The metal was slick and icy. His boot slipped.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Twenty feet in the air didn’t seem like that high when he was sitting in the deer stand. It didn’t seem like that high when he looked up at buildings or walls or anything like that. It was </span>
  <em>
    <span>just</span>
  </em>
  <span> twenty feet. But falling? His breath caught in his lungs and his heart was in his stomach - and it seemed like it would never end. It felt like a long fucking drop, even if it only took a second. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hit the ground hard - harder than he thought he would. He didn’t fall flat to land on his back. He’d fallen with one leg still extended because he’d been aiming for the next rung. It hit the ground first. The hard, frozen ground. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It snapped audibly. He bit down viciously on the scream of pain that wanted to rip its way out of his throat. It came out as a soft, low groan instead. He scrambled around to put his back to the tree, sitting beside the ladder because he knew Paul still had to climb down and there were still the dead to worry about. He swung his crossbow around to set it in his lap and breathed hard - in through his nose and out through his mouth. Paul was there a moment later, crouching in front of him with concern in his eyes and one hand hovering over Daryl’s outstretched leg.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Let me see," he said, voice quiet and demanding. Daryl didn't fight him. He had no idea what was under his jeans. He didn't think it was bleeding, but it all felt hot and uncomfortable anyway. Paul set his knees on either side of Daryl's ankle to keep his leg as stable as he could and worked the cuff of his jeans up over his calf a ways. "Well, the bone isn't poking through the skin, so that's the good news." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"What's the bad news?" Daryl bit, feeling brittle and angry. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I have to do this," Paul said, an apologetic look in his eyes. He pressed hard on the part of Daryl's leg that was sticking up at the wrong angle and pulled up with his hand under the part that was in the right place. Daryl dug his fingers into the frozen dirt and bit down hard enough on his bottom lip to make it bleed as he tried to hold in a scream and prevent himself from punching Paul in the face. Paul was already pulling down Daryl's jeans and off finding sticks to make a very crappy splint. At least that part didn't hurt quite so much.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Go,” Daryl said, voice panting harsh from the pain. “Get the damn deer. Bring it over here and I’ll walk ya through field dressin’ it.” Paul chewed on his lower lip for only a split second before nodding once and standing. Daryl waved him off and Paul turned to go. Daryl shut his eyes for a moment and banged the back of his head against the tree behind him. He was a fucking idiot. At least Paul had been able to set it, he supposed, and the pain was settling into something less breathtaking. He forced himself to open his eyes and pay attention to his surroundings. He had to make sure one of the dead didn’t stumble across him - or Paul, once he got back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It took a while for Paul to get back, but that didn’t surprise Daryl. Paul wasn’t great with carrying heavy loads for long distances. That was usually Daryl’s job when they went out on runs. Paul could carry a lot of stuff over and over again, but Daryl did the heavy lifting. It was usually an even trade. He watched as Paul struggled to drag the deer as close as he dared. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl coached him through everything step-by-step, wanting to laugh at Paul’s grossed out look but not quite able over the pain in his leg. He knew he could do a better job of it himself, and faster, too, but there wasn’t much point in wishing. He’d done this to himself, and he could damn well get over himself. When Paul was finished with the deer, Daryl made him take it to the truck first. They had a cage on the back to keep the dead out of it, and Paul could store it there and then come back for Daryl. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Paul clearly wanted to argue, but beyond about a minute long staring contest, he didn’t do or say anything. Finally, he turned and left, hauling the deer along behind himself. Daryl was relieved. A single buck wasn’t really enough, but it was better than nothing, and Daryl wasn’t the only one who could go hunting. He just enjoyed it and usually came back with a good bit more. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hated getting old. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It took almost an hour for Paul to come back, and by then, the sun had climbed over the horizon. There was more snow, too. It had started falling in thicker clumps. Daryl had brushed most of it away, but it was piled on his broken leg - which he hadn’t dared touch - and along his shoulders. When Paul saw him half covered in snow, he knelt by his side and helped brush it away before doing anything else.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"We need to get you up and moving sooner rather than later," he said quietly. Daryl nodded. He knew enough about shock and the cold to know that - even if he'd never left Georgia. He didn't want to even think about moving, but sitting out there in the snow also wasn't an option. "I could probably get the truck a bit closer?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Nah," Daryl said, shaking his head. "Cain't risk it gettin' stuck out here. It's only a mile. I can make that." He wasn't honestly sure he could, but he knew he had to try. "Help me up." Paul slid in by his good side and pulled Daryl's arm around his shoulders and fit his arm behind Daryl's back. He stood slowly and carefully so Daryl didn't lose his balance and topple them both. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Nice and slow," Paul said, his face set in a determined expression. Daryl nodded and they started walking. The land was, blessedly, mostly flat. They had to deal with a few fallen trees and a small hill and a few holes, but the way was mostly easy going. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl was shaking and sweating before they had made it a half-mile. Paul made him stop and take a break, catch his breath, and drink some water. Daryl didn't want to admit that it helped, but he suspected Paul knew it had anyway. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I broke an arm and a leg at the same time when I was ten," Paul told him when they'd started walking again. Daryl couldn't look at him, couldn't look away from the ground where he was carefully placing each step. "It was hell. Literally. I was in one of the worst foster homes at the time, and despite their calls for the state to come and take me back, they never did. So I was mostly stuck in bed or on the sofa all day. These days, being glued to a couch all day sounds a little like a vacation."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl grunted. "Sounds shitty." He knew Paul had been in and out of foster homes, but beyond that, he hadn't said much about going up. Daryl hadn't said much either. Paul hadn't said anything about the scars on his back, and Daryl hadn't said anything about the scars on Paul's thighs. Daryl had seen them and known Paul had done that to himself - Paul had probably known Daryl had been beat as a kid. It was obvious and it was the sort of thing people just didn't talk about - Before or now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"It was," Paul said - too brightly and all deceptive. "But the point is: it can always be worse." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl grunted. He knew that. He could be fucking dead. Or bit. It was just a broken leg and he'd be okay, but he'd be fucking miserable for a while, too. He had no idea what the hell he was going to do with his days in Alexandria without being able to go wherever he wanted. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When they finally made it to the truck, Daryl could have cried with relief. He might have let a tear or two escape when Paul was walking around to the other side of the truck, but neither of them mentioned it. Paul was a shit driver, but Daryl kept his mouth shut this time. He was being considerate by going slow and avoiding as many bumps as possible - normally he hit every pothole in the road and drove like a bat out of hell. It took more than two hours to get back to Alexandria, and by then, Daryl was back to hurting like hell. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Paul told Tara, who was on gate duty for the morning, what had happened, and he drove to what had once been Denise's house but now functioned fully as an infirmary. Paul and Tara helped Daryl out of the truck and got him inside and on the damn gurney while someone else fetched Siddiq and the two kids in training. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"How the hell did you break your leg?" Tara asked, already helping to get Daryl's boots off. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Fell," Daryl grunted. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"The ladder was icy," Paul added, "and the ground was frozen. He landed wrong." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Christ, man," Tara said, shaking her head. "I've seen you make crazy jumps before. You must be getting old, huh?" She winked at him and took both his boots to drop them by the door. "Hey, Doc."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Tara, will you grab the morphine? We're gonna have to lose the jeans, there, Daryl," Siddiq said, too fucking cheerfully. Mindy, the girl Daryl had brought in just a few months ago, flushed bright pink and looked away. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl yanked at his belt and held it out for Paul to take. Paul gave him a look that Daryl didn't bother to interpret, but he took the belt all the same, curling it up and setting it on a chair nearby. Unfortunately, Daryl couldn't do much beyond that, but it was Paul who took pity on him and helped him strip out of his jeans. Tara, naturally, wolf-whistled in the background. Daryl flipped her off. Siddiq caught that arm and straightened it, then talked through the injection with the two assistants, and Daryl stopped paying attention about ten seconds after he pushed the plunger on the syringe. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl wasn't asleep, or even wholly unaware of what was happening around him - he just didn't care about any of it. Paul held his hand and stood by his side, and that was the only part that mattered. Daryl knew his leg hurt worse for a while and then felt a little better, but for the most part, he was trying his best to not pay too much attention to it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At some point, he slept - after Paul murmured that he would stay and keep watch.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>When Daryl woke, Rick was there. Paul was, too, but he was in the chair by Daryl's bed reading a book. "Hey, brother," Rick said, a small, teasing smile on his face. "Heard you got yourself in some trouble out there." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Nah," Daryl said, shrugging. "Jus' a broke leg, s'all."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh, is that all?" Rick asked mildly. Paul rolled his eyes at them both. "Well, Siddiq's gonna need the space here for teachin' those kids he's got followin' him around, and you're in good enough shape to make it home. Michonne and I'll come by with Carl and Judith and dinner later. Aaron and Eric said they made lunch already." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Good, I'm starving," Paul said, dog earing a page in his book and snapping it shut. He stood and grabbed a set of crutches from by the wall. Daryl sighed hard when he saw them. He didn't want to hobble around on those everywhere, but if he didn't have a choice, it was better than sitting in a bed all day. He shoved himself upright and noticed Paul - probably - had thought to bring him a pair of sweatpants to wear. Rick grabbed his boots, and he kelt to help Daryl get it on his one foot. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Tell me if you need anythin', all right? I've already switched things around. Can't exactly get up in the guard tower with the way you are now, but you can still handle teachin'." Daryl nodded, accepting that. He didn't like teaching, but he knew it needed to be done. "We'll sit down tonight, discuss some other things."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Is something wrong?" Paul asked, hesitation in his voice. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Not wrong," Rick said with a shrug even though he looked extremely uncomfortable. "I'll walk with you to your house." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Just spit it out," Daryl said, feeling grouchy from pain and hunger and the general situation. He accepted the crutches from Paul and let them both help him stand and find his balance before fitting the crutches under his arms and heading toward the door with a few small steps. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"It's Carl," Rick said quietly. He opened the door to a blast of frigid air. Daryl shivered, but he didn't ask for his coat. They didn't have too far to go. "He's asking to go out on runs more often, to learn to hunt. Things I - I don't want to teach him." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You want him to come with us," Paul said, summing up his - and Daryl's - immediate first thought. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rick nodded. "I can't think of anyone better suited to watching his back and letting him learn and figure things out while still not letting him do anything dumb enough to get himself killed." He scratched at his beard as they walked along the street. "I know he can handle himself in a fight, but that's not what the runs are about. He needs to learn strategy and patience and… and stuff I can't teach him from behind the walls. But I have to think about Judith, too."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah," Daryl agreed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yes?" Paul asked, one eyebrow raised. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"He's gotta think about lil' asskicker," Daryl said with a huff. "We'll think about it. It's been just us for a while, man. And it'll be spring before we can hit the city again, anyway. Plus this." Daryl stuck out the cast on his leg. It stretched from his foot to the bottom of his knee. "Can't even hunt. So we'll talk about it."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Thank you," Rick said, nodding his head low again. Daryl figured Rick knew they would agree, but they still needed to talk about it anyway. Daryl really was too old for runs anymore - especially if he was going to start breaking bones. He would absolutely trust Carl to watch Paul's back once the kid had some decent impulse control and a better mind for strategy. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wished Glenn was still around to teach him that. It made his chest hurt to know he wasn't. His death had been so fucking unfair. He still had a hard time facing Maggie and baby Hershel. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rick walked them nearly to their door before splitting off and heading for his own home. Paul helped Daryl maneuver the porch steps, then opened the front door for him. Daryl really wanted to sit down again. He hadn't gone far at all, but his leg was hurting again and his shoulders were aching from the crutches - especially the one with the old bullet scar in it - and he was still tired. He headed for their sparsely decorated living room and sat heavily on the couch, letting the crutches rest beside him against the arm. He could hear the soft clatter of dishes in the kitchen and Gracie's babble. He shut his eyes and drank it in.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Paul came into the room a few minutes later with a glass of water and a couple aspirin. Daryl took them, even if they wouldn't help much. Something would be better than nothing at all. "Aaron and Eric said lunch'll be on the table in a minite." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl shrugged and didn't meet Paul's eyes. "Go on 'n eat without me."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"No, you need to eat, too, and I'm not letting you sit out here on your own." He sat on the couch beside Daryl and took his hand, dragging it over to his lap. "What's wrong?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Nothin'," Daryl said, though he knew it wasn't really the truth. Not technically. "I'm tired." He was, but he knew from the way Paul squeezed his hand that he didn't believe him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Please just tell me," Paul asked, his voice quiet. He was doing the fucking zen thing again - pretending he didn't have any feelings at all so he didn't get hurt. Daryl was reminded of the conversation they'd had back in D.C. that had begun their relationship. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl sighed. "Don't wanna slow you down," he admitted after another long pause. "I'm gonna, one of these days, and it'll be me gettin' bit and you havin' to watch or the other way around."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Paul didn't sugar coat anything for him, and that was one thing Daryl was damn grateful for. "Yes, probably. But we knew that." He leaned close and held Daryl's face between his hands. "And I would shoot you before I let you turn, you know that, but that doesn't mean I want anyone else out there with me. Like you said, it's been just us for a long time." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It had been years. It didn't much matter that they'd only started living together a couple months ago. They'd been going on runs - just the two of them - for almost as long as there had been peace. It wouldn't be the same with anyone else. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I'll jus' get in the way," Daryl said, moving Paul's hands away from his face. "This?" He waved at his newly-casted leg. "This was lucky. It coulda been worse. Short runs, sure. And until Carl and a couple others get where you need 'em to be, sure, I'll keep goin'. But we do this with the understandin' that I cain't, not for much longer."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Paul looked like he wanted to argue for a moment, but then he paused and chewed on his lip. Daryl watched him think it over and start nodding. "Okay, fine. But in exchange, we get a dog." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl rolled his eyes. "Yeah, we'll see." </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. i'm not running</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Paul stood on the porch surrounding Barrington House, Hershel on one hip, while Maggie pointed out Richmond on the map. Farther than Baltimore had been, another resource worth investigating once winter was over. She smiled, wide and a little bit sad, and reached over to stroke Hershel's long black hair. He was two and a half, and drooling all over Paul's shoulder in his sleep. </p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Paul stood on the porch surrounding Barrington House, Hershel on one hip, while Maggie pointed out Richmond on the map. Farther than Baltimore had been, another resource worth investigating once winter was over. She smiled, wide and a little bit sad, and reached over to stroke Hershel's long black hair. He was two and a half, and drooling all over Paul's shoulder in his sleep. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"The biggest cities to the west are Morgantown to the north and Charlottesville to the south," Paul pointed out, tapping at the paper. "There's bound to be a lot of shit in the woods, here." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Daryl could spend the whole summer out there and have himself a vacation," Maggie teased gently. "You know, once his leg ain't broke." She laughed lightly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I don't think he's really willing to go that far for that long, not anymore," Paul said quietly, not quite looking her in the eyes. His grip shifted on Hershel and he shifted the sleeping toddler to his other hip without waking him - a well-practiced move, at this point. He'd had a lot of practice between dealing with Judith, Gracie, and Hershel. "It's the same reason he wasn't willing to move here. He won't leave Judith and Carl or Gracie. Won't leave Eric, either."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maggie's smile turned soft and even more sad, which hadn't been Paul's intention. "He still hasn't forgiven himself for Glenn, either, no matter what I say." She shook her head and shrugged. "I know there's nothing else I can do. It still hurts. And you leavin' me on top of that?" She nudged his open side with her elbow. "Left me high and dry."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You have Enid!" Paul protested with a laugh. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I do," Maggie said, looking content again but not really smiling. "You've only lived there for a few weeks now, but how's it going?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"It's good," Paul said honestly, a small but genuine smile on his face. He knew Maggie saw it for what it was before she turned away from the maps and led the way over to the rocking chairs in the corner. "I thought I'd hate sharing a space, you know? I had my little trailer all to myself for so long. But it's… really nice, actually." He sat and settled Hershel on his lap and against his chest, letting him sleep and reluctant to give him up just yet. He rocked slowly. "I'm not sure I ever told you, but… it was easier for me to become attached to you and your family than it was for me to even consider getting close to the people here at Hilltop, back when I first met all of you."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You didn't have to say it," Maggie said. "I think we all sort of knew it. It's easy, when you see another wolf mixed in with the sheep." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"They aren't sheep now," Paul said quietly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"No," Maggie agreed with a sharp smile. "But they were. You weren't. We saw that. It's part of the reason we trusted you. You didn't try to pretend like you were one of them. You knew you were different. You knew you were more like us than them, even if you weren't quite like us yet."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Paul sighed. "My point being," and at that Maggie stifled a chuckle, "is that it's easier to fall in with everyone over there, even if I've known the people here longer. Tara and I didn't get along for </span>
  <em>
    <span>years</span>
  </em>
  <span> and yet here we are." He spread his hands. "All of us living under one roof." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I still can't believe they put all the gays together in one house," Maggie laughed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Well, to be fair," Jesus said, "Tara and Rosita moved into a cabin." He chuckled when Maggie shoved at his shoulder with her fingertips. "It worked, I guess. Eric couldn't move around to well for a long time, and they asked Daryl to be Gracie's godfather, so he wasn't going to be far from her. And he loves them both so much." Paul smiled softly as he looked out at the activity of Hilltop beyond the front porch of the big house. "He loves Tara and Rosita, too, as much as they drive him batshit sometimes. And you guys? Those of you who traveled together? You guys are </span>
  <em>
    <span>great</span>
  </em>
  <span> but some of the others say some hilariously offensive things, even when they're just trying to be nice. Aaron and I have a really good laugh about it pretty often. I feel like… like I'm getting the group home experience I always should have had, a few decades too late. And honestly? I really love it. I love taking care of Gracie, I love that Eric's teaching me to cook, I'm glad I get to go out recruiting with Aaron again."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Wait, what?" Maggie asked, shocked. "What about Daryl?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"He's not going anymore," Paul said with a small shrug. "He says he's too old, that he doesn't want to slow me down. Either he'll get killed or he'll get me killed, and he can't live with those options, so he'll just… stay."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maggie looked at Paul like he'd just grown two heads. "But what about the longer supply runs?" she demanded. "What about the trip back to Baltimore in the spring? Morgantown or Charlottesville?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Carl," Paul said simply. "We're taking him to Baltimore to get him up to speed, and then we'll take him and whoever he chooses who he thinks can do the job on the next run. Probably one or two more after that with a few more people, just to have options. Maybe have some other more experienced people from some of the other communities come along, too. But that's it. I think Daryl doesn't want to keep going on runs past the summer."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maggie sat in stunned silence for a long time. Paul let her, content to wave at a few people as they passed. He ran his thumb over the inside of the silver band on his left ring finger and smiled just a little. He'd never let people get close to him before he'd invited Maggie, Sasha, and Enid into his trailer, and even though Sasha's death had hurt in ways he hadn't expected or experienced since he was a little kid, it had still been worth it for all the good that had come later. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For Daryl. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For Gracie and Hershel. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For Eric and Aaron, Tara and Rosita. Carl, Michonne, (not Rick - just… not Rick), Carol in her own way, so many others. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"He's gonna hate that. Sittin' on the sidelines." Maggie was quiet but certain. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"It's not my decision," Paul said simply. "If he wants to give it a try, he's more than welcome. If he decides he wants to come back to it later, I will be more than happy to go on runs with him again. He told me what he'd decided, said he'd been thinking about it for a while. He'll still do short, local runs and go hunting, I guess, but this was all him, Maggie." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"What about you?" she asked, eyes piercing. "What do you want?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"A dog," Paul said, flashing her a bright false grin. Maggie didn't buy it, just kept staring at him. He dropped his gaze to Hershel's head and stroked his downy hair. "A family," he whispered. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maggie smiled, then. "Well. That sounds a little more like it. Got plenty of orphans that need parents." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Paul gave her a helpless smile. "Yeah, I know, but you really think Daryl'll go for that right out of the gate? He loves Judy and Gracie and Hershel to pieces, but having a kid of his own is a whole different ballgame. Figured I'd start with a dog. I've always wanted one." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I'll send a note to Carol," Maggie said with a laugh. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And just like that, Paul felt lighter. He wondered if this was what it was like to have a sister. Someone who you could tell your most secret secrets to and they would tease you about it a little and then just… make it happen. He hugged Hershel to his chest just a little tighter and swore to visit again just as soon as he could. He'd taken a chance, this time, heading out on foot in the light snow on a day that was bright and clear. But he'd have to head back tomorrow before the weather turned bad again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before bed, he thanked Maggie and told her he loved her. She looked a little surprised and a lot pleased, then she kissed his cheek and told him not to be a stranger and to write more often. They hadn't reinvented the pony express for people not to write letters, after all. He swore he would. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That night, he dreamed of himself and Daryl with a little girl of their very own, playing fetch in the back yard with a dog. It was the best dream he'd had in a long, long time.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. let's take a trip down memory lane</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The dog's name was Dog. Paul wasn't happy about it, but Daryl had picked it up from the Kingdom and brought it back - Aaron drove - and he'd named it. It was half wolf, half German Shepherd, or so said Ezekiel. Considering he'd worked at a zoo or something, Daryl trusted what he said about Dog. He was pretty, that was for sure. Mostly black, but brown ears and a brown-dipped tail. He was big, too. Just about ten weeks old and already nearly thirty pounds. Paul had gone out the very next day and found a collar for him. Every kid in Alexandria was begging for a dog of their own, and Daryl had sat on the porch, amused as all hell, as he watched Paul try and teach Dog some sort of obedience.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The dog's name was Dog. Paul wasn't happy about it, but Daryl had picked it up from the Kingdom and brought it back - Aaron drove - and he'd named it. It was half wolf, half German Shepherd, or so said Ezekiel. Considering he'd worked at a zoo or something, Daryl trusted what he said about Dog. He was pretty, that was for sure. Mostly black, but brown ears and a brown-dipped tail. He was big, too. Just about ten weeks old and already nearly thirty pounds. Paul had gone out the very next day and found a collar for him. Every kid in Alexandria was begging for a dog of their own, and Daryl had sat on the porch, amused as all hell, as he watched Paul try and teach Dog some sort of obedience.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl had taught Dog a couple things himself - sit and no and come here - but Dog followed Paul like Paul was his own mother. Paul fed him and Paul let him sleep in the bed at night even when Daryl said no. Paul gave him treats and played with him and let Dog follow him everywhere.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That was why Daryl knew something was wrong when he heard the howling. They were puppy howls, but they were unmistakable. He'd been up close and personal with full grown timber wolves before, had them circling the tree he'd been run up for hours and hours. He'd heard them howl and felt it deep in his chest. He couldn't feel these howls, but it made the hair on his arms stand up. Considering the only other dog in Alexandria was a bulldog and lab mutt that had been around since Before and knew better than to make a sound like that, it </span>
  <em>
    <span>had </span>
  </em>
  <span>to be Dog howling. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hobbled as fast as he could through the streets, his crutches bearing more of his weight than usual as he nearly ran through Alexandria. Carl jogged out of his house on the end of the street and joined Daryl, jogging alongside him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"That was Dog, right?" Carl asked. "Why the hell is he making that sound?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"He's howlin'," Daryl grunted. "Gotta find 'im." Carl gave Daryl that weirdly blank, too serious look he sometimes got in his eyes and nodded before running on ahead. Daryl was still making his way down the dirt path by the wall and the smaller houses they'd just finished building last year when Carl popped back onto the path and waved him closer. Daryl picked up the pace, dread curling in his gut. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Carl waved him around a corner and Daryl followed. Dog was there, his collar tied to a rope and the rope tied to a post. He was chewing on the rope and bouncing around, growling and snarling as he shook his head viciously. Daryl whistled sharply, and Dog stopped immediately. He dropped the rope and barked at Daryl a few times, then tipped his head back and howled again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Quit it!" Daryl snapped. Dog stopped with a whine. "Carl, go cut 'im loose. We gotta find Paul. Somethin' ain't right. He wouldn'a tied up Dog like that." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Carl yanked his knife from the sheath on his belt and sliced the rope near the post, then caught it up in his hand and led Dog over to Daryl. Daryl knelt, slow and a little bit pained. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Where's Paul, huh?" Daryl asked Dog, scratching his ears. "Who'n the hell tied you up?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dog barked at him and bounced around a little, then took off running. He nearly strangled himself when he reached the end of the rope and it snatched him backward. Daryl waved a hand and Carl shrugged once before letting go of the rope. Dog grabbed the rope between his teeth and took off running, but he stopped every few feet to make sure Daryl and Carl were following. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Go on after him, I'll follow you," Daryl told Carl. "Find Paul." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was genuinely worried. Paul didn't go on runs alone, and he certainly wouldn't have left the walls without mentioning it. Daryl had told Paul he would help train up some replacements for himself - and he was doing some of that even with a busted leg - but there was no reason for anyone to leave the walls today. Runs were planned and calculated, and even if the ice had melted and the snows had turned to mushy sleet instead, there wasn't much of a reason for him to leave anyway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They'd had a couple new faces show up in the last few weeks, but that wasn't particularly noteworthy. A couple men from out west had shown up at the edge of the woods. One of the spotters on the walls had seen them, had invited them to the gates, put them through the questioning and invited them in. There was still a trial period and extensive interview, but it wasn't like they could just turn people out and expect them to go on their merry way. If they didn't work out, they died. End of story. So most of the time, everyone tried to work out a solution that benefited the whole group. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Deanna's interviews had been in depth, and Rick had taken that page from her book regarding new people. He and a group of others interviewed the new people and made decisions about them. Aaron was part of that group. So was Paul, when he was around. He and Aaron had both made decisions regarding new people coming into their communities, and Rick valued their input. Daryl had been on the council back at the prison, but Rick hadn't wanted to give anyone too much power, so even though Rick had offered him a seat, he knew it was Paul he'd really wanted. It wasn't like Paul and Rick and even Aaron didn't come to him all the time anyway to ask for his opinion - and sometimes his advice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hadn't met the two new guys, though he'd known Paul hadn't wanted them in Alexandria. He'd immediately denied them, but he hadn't told anyone why - not even Daryl. He hadn't said a word about any of it to Daryl. Rick had been the one to tell him what had happened at the meeting. And Aaron had stopped Daryl, alone, later to ask if Paul was okay. Daryl hadn't been able to give an honest answer, and it had bothered him. He'd asked Paul, but he'd just said it was something from Before and not to worry about it, that he could handle it. Daryl had taken him at his word. Now, he was wondering if he should have. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He didn't like not trusting Paul. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Carl shouted his name, and he picked up his pace once more, nearly throwing himself forward each time on his crutches. They were squeaking and groaning terribly underneath him. He'd been in the cast for eight fucking weeks. Siddiq wanted him in it for ten, but Daryl was going to make the bastard cut it off after this. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He nearly fell as he turned a corner. It wasn't far from where Dog had been tied up. They should have cut through the fields rather than going back out to the paths. But it was too late for that now. He saw Carl banging at a door as hard as he could, trying to force it open. "Kick it near the knob!" Daryl called. Carl backed up a couple steps and held his arms out to his sides for balance before slamming the heel of his boot into the door. Once, then twice. Daryl made it up the steps on the third kick, and he shoved past Carl as soon as it was open. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The little houses along this side of the wall were singles, meant for one or maybe two people to share. There was a bathroom, but that was the only 'room.' The rest was open, with the kitchenette area on the opposite end as the bathroom. This house had the bed in the middle of the back wall. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It took a long second for Daryl to process what he was seeing. Paul was laid out on his front, his head turned away from him, his long hair matted with blood. Above him, thrusting and grunting and sweaty, was one of the new men. Daryl was pretty sure the guy's name was Steven or Steve or something. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As soon as he understood what was happening - that this sack of shit was </span>
  <em>
    <span>raping </span>
  </em>
  <span>Paul - he snapped. He saw red. Literally. He tossed one crutch in the air and used it like a bat with both hands, going Negan on the fucker and smashing his fucking head in. Like he had with that metal pipe and that fat fuck from Sanctuary. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He didn't stop. The man had jerked off Paul and rolled to the floor, but Daryl didn't stop. Not until his brains were soupy and splattered over the floor and walls and bed. He didn't feel guilty. He didn't even make a sound. He just kept smashing until Carl grabbed the metal crutch midswing and halted his movement. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Stop," Carl said, his voice low and with just a hint of steel - just like Rick. "You need to check on Paul. I'll go get Siddiq. I'll get - Dad. And Aaron. I'll make sure Siddiq doesn't bring the kids with him. Okay?" Daryl nodded. He was panting, hard. He stumbled a little when he tried to step away from the dickbag on the floor. Carl caught him and kept him on his feet, then helped him sit on the bed by Paul's side. Carl had dragged a sheet up over him, but it hadn't done much good.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl made an ugly noise, one he would be ashamed Carl had heard later, and lifted one hand to touch the back of Paul's head. He shifted to curl over Paul's side and look at his face. He couldn't even tell if Paul was still alive. Paul's eyes were open and glassy. He blinked, and Daryl realized Paul was crying. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He'd never actually seen Paul cry before. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pressed his lips to Paul's forehead. "He's dead," he whispered, his voice rough and choked. "I fuckin' killed him for what he was doin' to ya. I swear to god, baby, he ain't ever gonna hurt you again."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Daryl?" Paul asked, sounding confused and too distant. "What?" He tried to move, but Daryl caught his shoulder and held him still. "Oh… that's - that's unpleasant." Paul laughed a horrible, weak little chuckle. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Don't move, okay?" Daryl curled protectively around him, wanting to squeeze Paul to his chest and knowing he couldn't. "Carl's gettin' Siddiq and - and Rick an' Aaron so we can get ya home, okay?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Paul closed his eyes for a moment. "Carl? He was here?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl nodded. His throat felt hot and tight and swollen, like the time he'd tried some canned pineapple as a kid, and Merle had made him eat a whole bunch of crushed up benadryl. He'd slept all day and night, but he'd felt better after and just didn't eat pineapple again. Wasn't a hardship, not for a poor redneck kid like him. He knew this wasn't an allergic reaction, but he almost wished it was. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"He saw?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl hummed and Paul turned his face to hide it against the mattress. "Fuck," he whispered. "I -" He hissed in pain, and Daryl could only choke back his questions and rub Paul's back, trying his hardest to help where he could. When he turned his head away from the mattress, he looked confused. "Daryl? Where - why are we here?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was a concussion. A bad one. Daryl knew that. That didn't make it any easier to listen to this. "One of the cabins," Daryl said, voice sounding like he'd swallowed nails. "You, uh. You got hurt. We're waitin' on Siddiq to come an' have a look at you." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh." Paul was quiet for a moment, then he leaned closer, and Daryl could feel his fingers tightening in his shirt. "Don't - don't let Steve get close."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Why?" Daryl asked, his touch featherlight as he brushed some of Paul's hair from his face. "Baby - why didn't you - why didn't you tell me?" He knew he sounded like he was sobbing. He might have been. He didn't much care. Paul was the one hurting. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A long pause. "Tell you what?" Paul sounded confused and his words were slurred. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl pressed his forehead to Paul's shoulder. "Nevermind. Just want you to be okay." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"'M always okay," Paul murmured.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl had often wanted to strangle Paul in the time he'd known him. He sort of wanted to do it again now. He didn't, mostly because he loved him far, far too much for that. He squeezed Paul's hand in his own. He heard soft whining and realized Carl had left Dog behind with them. Daryl leaned over the end of the bed and scratched his ears. Dog licked some of the blood off his fingers. Paul's eyes were closed when he looked at him again. He didn't try waking him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Daryl?" Rick called from outside. "It's me." Daryl sat up, one hand still on Paul's shoulder. Rick stepped inside the cabin, pushing open the door and shutting it most of the way closed behind himself. He rubbed his hand over his mouth as he looked at what was in front of him. "Tell me what happened." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Heard Dog howlin'. Went lookin'. Me an' Carl found 'im tied to a post. Dog led Carl here. I followed. Carl broke down the door, I went in. Saw that sack a' </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit</span>
  </em>
  <span> rapin' Paul. Hit 'im with my crutch and - didn't stop. Carl stopped me, 'ventually. He went an' got y'all." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rick nodded. "Carl said the same thing." Rick stepped closer. "He - Jesus. He didn't say nothin' about this guy to you? Didn't say why he didn't want him here?" Daryl shook his head. Rick sighed and rubbed his jaw. "Okay. I'm gonna get Siddiq in here. You an' me, we're gonna go wait on the porch. Aaron can help Siddiq well enough until he decides what we need to do next. Okay?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Don't wanna leave 'im," Daryl said, voice low and quiet. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I know," Rick said with a nod. "I know. But it's gonna be easier on everyone if you do." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl stood and shoved his crutches under his arms and shoved his way past Rick and out to the porch. Aaron had a long, solemn look on his face. Siddiq didn't look happy, either. Daryl didn't say anything. He went down to the grass and whistled sharply. Dog came trotting out of the cabin with his tail between his legs, but he planted himself by Daryl's feet and didn't move. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rick came out a moment after Siddiq and Aaron went inside. Carl and one of Siddiq's assistants - the boy, Dylan - were carrying a stretcher between them. Daryl turned and walked away, unable to watch. He didn't go far, but he couldn't stand there and do nothing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was his luck or his curse that Tara was the first to see him. She'd been one of the first to ask for a cabin, so she had the one right on the end, near the big garden plots where they grew the herbs and were trying to grow lemon and lime and avocado trees. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Christ, man," Tara said, jogging down to step in his path. "Look, the kids are out that way. I can't let you walk over there all covered in blood like that. They know the difference between human blood and walker guts. Come on." He let her take his hand and lead him into her cabin. She pushed him to sit on her couch and she took his crutch from him to scrub it clean at the sink.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"What happened?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl didn't answer her, just sat there with Dog in his lap. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Well, just - hang tight. Let me go find you a shirt." She went over to a dresser by the bed where it was crammed into a corner by the bathroom door and began rifling through one of the drawers. She came back a few minutes later and set the black tee-shirt on the arm of the couch. "That should fit you, I think. Best I got, anyway. You, uh. You didn't kill Jesus, did you?" She winced as she asked, but Daryl found he couldn't fault her for the question. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Nah," he said quietly. He jerked his chin at her and she turned on her heel to face the other wall. He stripped out of his other shirt and only then realized how much gore had splattered over him. He tugged on the one Tara had given him and balled up the other. "Was th' new guy. Steve. Caught 'im -" Daryl's breath caught in his chest and he clung to Dog, clutching the little shit close to his chest. "Caught that bastard rapin' Paul. Fuckin' killed 'em for it. Carl - Carl saw, too. Fuck." He let out an ugly sob and hid his eyes behind one hand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tara sat beside him on the couch and squeezed his arm. "I literally cannot even imagine how fucking shitty that was," she said quietly. "I guess Siddiq's already there with Jesus?" Daryl nodded. "Good. Then take a minute for you, too." She slid her hand up to his neck and then back behind his shoulders and tugged him toward her, and Daryl found himself in a hug. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"He </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span> 'im," Daryl said, voice almost uncomfortably high from how tight his throat was. "He knew an' - an' he didn't say nothin' to me." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You've seen the ninja shit he can do," Tara said. "He probably thought he could handle it on his own. Maybe he'll tell you later, maybe he won't. That's not really your call." She thumped him on the back a few times. "Your job is to be there in case he does want to tell you. And also, you know. Because he's like, I dunno, your husband now or something." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl snorted. He wiped his nose and cheeks with his hands and rubbed them off on his jeans. He had sacrificed one pair so they could a hole up one side for the cast to fit, so they were dirty anyway. He didn't exactly get the chance to wash them that often. Tara let him go but didn't move from her spot beside him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I get that you're pissed," she said quietly. "Be pissed all you want. Just not in front of Jesus. You get me? He'll think you're pissed at him, and that'll scare him." Daryl nodded. "Okay. I'm gonna get a rag. You've got blood -" she made a circular motion in front of her face, "like, everywhere, man." She took Daryl's shirt from him and dropped it on top of an already overflowing laundry basket. At the sink, she soaked a rag in water then brought it back to Daryl and gave it to him. He took a moment to scrub his face clean. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She tossed that on the basket, too, and sat on the couch beside Daryl again. She scratched behind Dog's ears and cooed at him. Daryl didn't speak. Tried not to even think. He dug his fingers into his thigh and squeezed to the point of pain whenever he saw flashes of Paul on that bed, covered in blood, being hurt. It didn't take long for Tara to notice and take his hand in her own, squeezing tightly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They sat like that for over an hour before there was a knock on the door. Tara just shouted for whoever it was to come inside rather than get up and go open it. Carl stepped inside. Dog barked a little and squirmed his way down to the floor and bounded over to him to jump up on his legs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Hey, Daryl, um. Dad said to come find you. They've got Paul at the infirmary. Siddiq wants to talk to you about a couple things. He said it's kind of important." Daryl nodded and Tara stood so she could grab his hand and pull him to his feet. "I'll take Dog to the house, let him play with Judith." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl nodded again, and, without being asked, Tara walked with him to the infirmary. He was grateful, though he didn't say it. He was pretty sure she knew anyway. He'd have to find a way to let her know. Maybe once Paul was feeling better… </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wanted to slow down, or maybe even stop, as they got closer to the infirmary, but Carl had said Siddiq wanted to see him and that it was important, so he made himself keep walking. The two kids were in the front room. Dylan pointed Daryl toward the hall where the other rooms were located, and Daryl headed for the first one on the right. Their infirmary could hold plenty of people, but there were three rooms in the house that Siddiq tried to keep separate for anyone who needed to stay longer than a few hours. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Paul was in a hospital gown - one they'd scavenged for a few years back - and he was lying on his side in the single bed. Beyond that, Daryl tried not to look at him too hard. They didn't have many proper hospital gurneys, but it didn't much matter in these rooms. Siddiq was sitting in a chair in the room when Daryl pushed open the door. Tara closed it behind him, leaving herself out in the hall. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Siddiq stood and went to Paul's head, sweeping his hair up and out of the way to show Daryl the spot he'd had to shave. There was a long line of dark stitches across his scalp. "Tell Paul I said I was sorry for shaving his hair," he said, a weak smile on his face. Siddiq had never called Paul 'Jesus,' either, and Daryl had sort of appreciated that, once.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"He ain't gonna care," Daryl said with a shrug. He kept his back to the wall beside the door, not trusting himself to get any closer. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Siddiq sighed and looked so painfully young Daryl wanted to shake him and ask him what the hell he knew about anything. He didn't. "Look, you're the closest thing he has to a next of kin, and I have to tell someone what's going on with him." Daryl nodded once, but he didn't say anything. He and Paul weren't </span>
  <em>
    <span>married</span>
  </em>
  <span>, not like Tara had said. They hadn't wanted any bullshit like that. It didn't mean a whole lot to either of them. The rings had been a way to tell everyone else they were together without having to actually say anything, and for the most part, they did the trick. Well. It hadn't meant anything to </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Maybe it meant something to Paul. He hadn't ever actually asked. He should. He should have before.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Okay," Siddiq said, nodding to himself, like he was trying to psyche himself up. He sat on the foot of the bed and rubbed the back of his head. "I'm gonna go down the list. Ten stitches to the back of the head. My guess is a minor fracture in the occipital bone, but seeing as I can't get an x-ray, that's just a guess. Bruises. Lots of bruises. Face, shoulders, torso, ribs, back, spine, hips, thighs. Ulna - that's the skinny arm bone - broken. Dislocated shoulder. Anal abrasions and lacerations. Oh, and a sprained ankle." He took a deep breath and looked over at Daryl, who hadn't moved. "I know - I know it's a lot," he whispered, pale. "I'm sorry." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl's gut felt like there was a hard stone lodged deep inside it. He swallowed hard and forced himself to look at Paul. His face was bruised under his eye, and there was a bruise in the center of his forehead, too. Daryl hadn't noticed, earlier. His right arm was in a cast - bright blue, where Daryl's own was black. He couldn't see anything else because Paul was covered by the gown and a sheet and blanket, but he knew it was bad. An image of the bloodstained sheets flashed in his mind. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"What can I do for 'im?" he asked, quiet and low. He crossed his arms over his chest, letting the wall take his weight. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Not much," Siddiq said, and Daryl appreciated the honesty, even if he didn't like the answer. "Be patient, mostly. He'll be stuck here for a few days at the least, and that's mostly because I'm certain I can't keep him here any longer than that. You can help by keeping him here as long as possible and not running off and making him worry. Because he will, and you know it. So sit in that chair right there and don't move." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl grabbed just one of his crutches and limped his way over to the chair beside Paul's bed and sat himself in it. Siddiq looked surprised, but Daryl hadn't intended to leave any time soon, anyway. Tara could go and grab him a book or something. Someone else could bring him food or whatever else he needed. He could shower here.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Okay," Siddiq said, clapping his hands to his thighs before pushing himself to his feet. "Tell someone to come find me when he wakes up. He isn't in a coma, but he has a nasty concussion. I won't be surprised if he has a little bit of memory loss because of it. Hopefully, it'll only be of the attack or a few hours. Maybe the whole day." He left the rest unsaid, and Daryl was quietly grateful. He didn't want to contemplate having to explain who he was to Paul. Or the entire end of the world. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Siddiq let himself out and Tara stepped inside. She left the door cracked behind her. She took up Daryl's place against the wall, and they both sat in silence. It was still too new, too raw. Daryl didn't want to talk about any of it, and while he knew Tara wouldn't keep silent for long, he also knew she wouldn't talk about anything important - and she wouldn't expect him to say anything in return. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They remained there for hours. Dylan brought them a tray of food around dinner time. Daryl didn't eat much, and only ate what he did because of Tara's pestering. She was just getting ready to take the tray out to the kitchen when Paul groaned softly and began to move. Daryl leaned over and squeezed Paul's hand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Paul blinked open his eyes slowly and squinted up at the ceiling. "Daryl?" It was a fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>relief</span>
  </em>
  <span> to hear Paul say his name. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"'M right here," he swore. He squeezed Paul's hand again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I'm gonna go get Siddiq," Tara said. "I'm glad you're awake, Jesus." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Paul smiled just a little. "Thanks, Tara." Once the door shut, his smile dropped away and he looked at Daryl. "What happened?" He tried to move to sit up but then frowned even harder when he felt his arm in the cast and immobilizer brace. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You, uh," Daryl cleared his throat. "You got attacked. Hurt pretty fuckin' bad." He brought Paul's hand up to his mouth and just held it there for a while. Paul's face did the same creepy blank think Carl's did sometimes. He was used to it by now, but that didn't mean he had to like it. "Steve. The new guy. He did it. I - I killed 'im for it. Beat his head in." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Paul nodded a little and his eyes drifted away from Daryl's face. "Last thing I can remember is… playing with Dog this morning. Feeding him that food you make him." Daryl offered him a weak smile. Paul had been surprised when Daryl had started cooking up dog food for the puppy. He wouldn't cook anything more elaborate than roasting meat over a fire for Paul or himself, and he rarely touched a vegetable unless someone else put it on his plate, but he made sure Dog ate well. Paul had teased him endlessly - still was. But Daryl also couldn't fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>stand</span>
  </em>
  <span> the smell of canned dog food. He'd happily put in the extra effort for Dog so he never had to smell that shit again. And it wasn't like they had spare bags of kibble just lying around. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Carl 'n I found Dog tied up outside," Daryl said. "Cabin he had you in wasn't far." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Paul turned his head and lifted his arm enough to see the bright blue cast. "It's broken." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah, th' ulna," Daryl told him, his voice soft. "Dislocated shoulder. Bad concussion. Some other shit. I'll let him tell it." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Steve's dead?" Daryl nodded. Paul took a deep breath and grimaced. "Good." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That surprised Daryl, but he didn't ask any questions, didn't push Paul to explain himself. Siddiq had said to be patient, and Daryl had been a hunter nearly his whole life. He'd loved Paul from a careful distance for years before Paul had finally broken down that barrier between them. He could wait however long was necessary for Paul to explain what the hell had happened. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Siddiq came in just a few minutes later and talked to Paul. He gave him some simple questions to answer - what community were they in, who was the leader of Hilltop, what was the last meal served at the community-wide dinner - and Paul answered them all perfectly. He explained that he could remember that morning but nothing past playing with Dog, which had been well before lunch and several hours before Steve had attacked him. He listed out Paul's injuries for a second time, and Paul looked a little pale by the end. He also began giving them information for the care of those injuries. Daryl wasn't sure how the fuck they were supposed to keep Paul healthy on a strictly liquid diet for at least a week, but he'd damn well try. Beyond that, Paul's biggest concern was resting long enough for his bones to heal and dealing with the concussion. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Siddiq left them after apologizing about Paul's hair. A few minutes later, Rick came into the room. Daryl wasn't surprised to see him, though he was surprised it had taken this long for him to show up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"How's Carl?" Daryl asked before Rick could start interrogating Paul. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rick's face made a complicated expression. "He's… well. He's worried about Jesus. Worried about you. I had to sit with 'im and have some pretty tough conversations today, so that wasn't easy on him, but he'll probably be around tomorrow to come see y'all. He's worried he did the wrong thing, somehow. I think he might just need a bit of reassurance." Daryl nodded immediately. He could do that. Carl was a good kid. Fucked up, sure, but mostly good - like his dad.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"He saw, huh?" Paul asked, his voice small and a little timid. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah," Rick said with a sigh. "He had to stop Daryl when the man's brains started paintin' the walls. He's seen a lot of terrible shit in this life, but he's never had to deal with somethin' like that before. Not… like that." Rick took a deep breath. Daryl knew he was thinking of those days before Terminus, when the men Daryl had been traveling with had attacked Rick and Michonne and Carl. Daryl had been horrified, but he'd understood Rick's reaction. "I know… I know you said we shouldn't let Steve into the community. But you never told me why. And you knew, even before you told me not to let him in, that I couldn't just take your word on faith. So why didn't you tell me? You - you must have known what sort of man he was. What if he'd tried hurting Carl instead? Or one of the other kids? Or - or Judith? Or Gracie?" Rick rubbed at his mouth, and Daryl could see how uncomfortable he was, how he hated bringing this up but how </span>
  <em>
    <span>guilty</span>
  </em>
  <span> he felt as well.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Judith and Gracie never leave anyone's sight," Paul said, his voice barely above a whisper. "And Carl would have killed him." He looked at Rick with big, wet eyes. "I'm sorry. I am. But I figured he probably wouldn't bother anyone other than me, not here. I knew him from Before." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rick nodded. He settled with his back against the wall and his arms crossed over his chest. "I figured as much. When you came to me and told me not to allow him in the community, I guessed you'd known him. And I thought about it. I went to the others, asked them what they thought a second time. We needed someone else who could hunt, though, and you wouldn't tell me </span>
  <em>
    <span>why</span>
  </em>
  <span>." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Paul was quiet for a moment. Daryl didn't say anything. He kept his hand entwined with Paul's and didn't move, either. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I was sent to foster care when I was eight," Paul said, quiet and intense. He looked at Rick and only Rick. "Steve was one of my many foster parents. I was ten when I lived with him." Daryl felt his entire body flush hot and then go very, very cold. "He pushed me down a flight of stairs in an office building. The concrete kind with the turns? I made it three stories before I stopped rolling. Had a broken arm and a broken leg, at the end. He started raping me almost as soon as I was home from the hospital." Rick didn't interrupt. "His wife tried calling child services to have me taken away, but they didn't come get me for another three months. I was in such bad shape, they put me in a home with a couple who only dealt with kids with serious medical conditions. I was about thirty pounds underweight and had developed a serious eating disorder. I didn't want to go to the bathroom, I didn't want to take a shower, I didn't even want to change my clothes. I screamed bloody murder anytime someone touched me. And you know the worst part? I wasn't allowed to stay with those people, even though they were doing their best to help me. I was sent packing to a different home where one of the older kids figured out what had happened to me and started doing it, too. No one listened, Rick. No one cared. So, no, I wasn't going to tell you." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The amount of anger and hatred in Paul's voice was something Daryl had never heard and never really wanted to hear again, but he didn't blame him for feeling that way. He wouldn't, not ever. He wanted to crawl into the bed and curl around him and promise him that nothing like that would ever happen again, but he couldn't do that. It </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> happened, and he hadn't been able to stop it. He'd killed the guy, sure, but the damage was already done. Steve's death didn't take away Paul's injuries. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I'd appreciate it if that stayed between us," Paul said, his voice cold and hard. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah," Rick said, nodding. "It will. Ain't gotta worry about that. Aaron and Siddiq aren't gonna say anything, and Siddiq's already had a talk with those kids of his about confidentiality." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"What happened will get out," Paul said, looking away from them and over at the blank wall. "I don't want anyone finding out about what happened to me as a kid. I don't need their pity. I guess he hit me over the back of the head with something really fucking hard to get the jump on me, otherwise he'd never have been able to do what he did. Everyone knows that, I think."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Tara calls ya a goddamn ninja all the time," Daryl said quietly. Paul turned his head and gave him a timid smile. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I swear," Rick said, "I won't tell anyone what you've just told me. Not even Michonne." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Paul nodded once. "Thank you. Mostly, I think I just want to sleep some more. Do you need anything else?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I'm gonna send word to Hilltop tomorrow morning," Rick said. "Maggie'll want to know, and she'll probably be here by the end of the day." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Okay," Paul said quietly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Get some rest. I'll have Carl come by in the morning and get a list of whatever you want." Rick nodded to Daryl, then he left the room. Tara didn't come back inside, and Daryl found himself grateful. Rick had probably told her they needed a minute. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You aren't mad?" Paul asked quietly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"The hell would I be mad about?" Daryl asked. "I'm pissed as fuck at that shitstain, but he's dead and I killed him, so there ain't nothin' more t' be done about 'im. But I ain't mad at you." He brought Paul's hand to his mouth again and held it there. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You're not mad I hid something like that from you?" Daryl shook his head. "Did you… did you know?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"No," Daryl said honestly. "Knew you didn't wanna talk about it, 'n that was enough. I don't wanna talk about my shitty childhood, neither. Suppose I owe you a story or two, though, in exchange." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Paul gave him a lopsided smile and his unshed tears spilled across his face and into the pillow. "We can trade." He laughed, a wet, broken sound, and clung to Daryl's hand. "Tomorrow?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Tomorrow," Daryl promised. "Get some sleep." Paul nodded and Daryl used the corner of the sheet to mop up his tears. "I love you." He didn't say it often, but he felt Paul deserved to hear it more. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Love you, too," Paul whispered. He settled and shut his eyes. Almost immediately, he was deeply asleep. Daryl could only imagine how much that short conversation had exhausted him. He pressed one last kiss to Paul's hand before tucking it under the blanket and pulling those higher up his chest. He made himself as comfortable as he could get in the chair by Paul's bed and leaned his head back. He probably wouldn't get much sleep, but that was okay. He was just happy to be here by Paul's side and keep watch over him while he slept.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>When Carl stopped by the next morning, it was after breakfast, and Paul had drunk a bowl of soup while Daryl poked at his eggs. They were able to give Carl a list of things to get - along with brief notes on where to find it - all written in Daryl's chicken scratch handwriting. Before Paul let him run off, though, he made Carl sit beside him on the bed. Daryl had helped him sit upright with plenty of pillows shoved behind his back to make it as comfortable as he could manage. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Thanks," Paul said, reaching out with his broken right arm and brushing his fingers over the back of Carl's hand. "For helping Daryl find me, for making him stop. For getting Siddiq and the others. For watching Dog, too. Siddiq said it'll be about six weeks before the cast can come off my arm, and I'll probably have to work on getting back into shape for a couple weeks after that, but Daryl and I will start taking you on the big runs. You need to learn, and Daryl won't keep going once you're ready. Figure out who else you think can handle it - not who you like or dislike, but who else has the skills - and we'll see about getting them ready for a longer run, too."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Carl nodded. "Yeah, sure, okay. Uh. You're welcome, I guess." He looked deeply uncomfortable. Daryl almost wanted to laugh, but he knew he'd have been just as uncomfortable in the same situation. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I owe you a lot, kid," Paul said, quiet and distant. "So just. Figure out what you want, okay?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You don't owe me anything," Carl insisted. "That's not how it works. I just did what needed doin'." He pulled away from Paul's hand and stood. "I'll go grab this stuff for y'all. Do you want me to bring Dog?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Can't yet," Daryl said, even though Paul was nodding. "Dog hair'll get everywhere. Cain't risk you gettin' an infection." He gave Paul an apologetic look, but Paul just sighed and picked at his cast. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Sorry," Carl said, awkward and quiet. He all but ran from the room, eager to get away from them as quickly as possible. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I just wanted to do something nice for him," Paul said at last. Daryl nodded to show he agreed. Carl had been a huge help yesterday. It would have taken Daryl alone far longer to stop beating the man, to get Paul the help he needed. "But what do seventeen year olds even like?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl shrugged. Merle had been gone when he was seventeen, and his daddy had been on a wild tear again - with the meth, that time. It hadn't been a good time for Daryl, who'd just been trying to graduate high school. Only reason he kept going every day and kept his grades high enough to pass was because it was a steady source of meals and an escape. Breakfast and lunch every single day. When he was seventeen, all he'd wanted was for his daddy to quit hitting him and for Merle to come home. Maybe a pack of cigarettes or a nice bottle of whiskey. He wasn't too picky, though. He imagined Paul had had a similar outlook. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Used to find comic books," Daryl said. "Would stay out longer to find 'em, when I could. Dunno. Guess he could use new boots, though. New knife."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Those are things he needs, not things he might </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span>," Paul said, like the distinction mattered. To Daryl, it didn't. They were so often one and the same. But he wasn't going to argue. "We'll ask Tara. Maybe she can help." Daryl only nodded, even if he figured Tara would be more trouble than she was worth. Paul could deal with that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Paul had more visitors. Aaron and Eric had helped Carl gather Daryl's and Paul's things for them, so they dropped off the bag along with a couple books Paul hadn't actually asked for, some smokes for Daryl Aaron had squirreled away, and Gracie, who made Paul smile. They stayed for a long while, through lunch, until Paul was utterly exhausted and could do nothing but nap after. Aaron squeezed Daryl's shoulder on his way out, a silent show of support. Daryl appreciated it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That night, once the house was silent, and Paul was awake again because he had always had a bit of an unpredictable sleep schedule even before adding midday naps into the mix and because Daryl couldn't sleep anyway, he offered up more of his past. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I didn't do anything before all this shit," he said quietly. Paul just looked at him. No judgement. "Followed my brother around, did whatever he said we were gonna do that day. Lotta the time, he was sellin' drugs. Sometimes, I'd work at a friend's garage for a few weeks. Usually when Merle was gone. Then he'd show up 'gain 'n blow all my money 'n we'd go 'round sellin' shit. When all this happened? Shit finally seemed to make sense. I was finally good for somethin'." He held Paul's hand in his and rubbed his thumb over the silver band on his ring finger. "Always sorta knew I weren't straight. Not like Merle, least ways. He got locked up for a while when I was 'bout twenty. Figured it out, then. What I liked." He smirked up at Paul. "Gave a lotta head in some shitty alleys in downtown Atlanta." Paul just shook his head and rolled his eyes a bit, but he still didn't comment. "Merle caught me. Just once. Wasn't - wasn't really doin' nothin'. Just lookin', I guess. Was at a bar he liked, 'n I knew better'n makin' any moves or doin' anythin' stupid there. Fuckin' aryan wanna be pricks. Merle… he didn't call me out 'til we was home. Prolly kept me alive by doin' that. But he smacked me around, some. Called me shit. Never let him even catch a whiff of it, ever again. Still fuckin' killed me when he died, 'cause Michonne got him to change, but I couldn't."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I don't think that's true," Paul said quietly, his fingers twisting into Daryl's and squeezing tightly. "Michonne might have talked him into it, but he probably did it </span>
  <em>
    <span>for</span>
  </em>
  <span> you." Daryl just shrugged. "I didn't know him, though, so I can't make an argument."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl sat in the quiet for another long moment. "My mom killed herself." Paul went very still. "Drank herself stupid, then lit a cigarette in bed. And - and it took a while to accept that she'd done it because 'a my old man. Longest time? I thought she just didn't want me 'round no more. Merle weren't hers, but I was." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Daryl," Paul breathed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Ol' man blamed me," Daryl pushed on. "Beat it into me. You seen th' scars. Most of 'em, th' old ones? 'S from him. Know it ain't true now, but." He shrugged and refused to meet Paul's eyes. "I ain't got no idea what this -" he lifted their joined hands - "really means. I know what it don't look like. And I know - I see how others are. But I'm just makin' up the rest'a this shit as I go."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Me too," Paul said honestly. "Other than those two foster homes, I was in group homes. After I turned eighteen, I never stayed in one place long. A year, maybe two. I didn't form connections with people. I worked through my trauma and sexuality by fucking a whole lot of guys in a very short period of time." He huffed, though it wasn't funny. "When I felt better, I just… did my own thing. One night stands, mostly. Sometimes friends with benefits. Not boyfriends. Not… this." He squeezed Daryl's hand. "And I don't know how to just. Open up and tell you things. I don't want to change the way you think of me."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I love you," Daryl said simply. "That ain't gonna change."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Paul smiled at him. "I'm starting to believe that. But be patient with me. I'm still learning." Daryl kissed his hand for the admission. "I don't know what the hell I'm doing either, Daryl. But I know I want to do it with you. And I know -" he cut himself off and chewed on his lip for a moment. Daryl just waited, didn't prod or poke. "I know that you aren't as old as you think you are. You can still go out there with me on runs, if you want." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It wasn't what Paul had wanted to say, but Daryl wasn't going to call him on it. Paul would tell him or he wouldn't. It didn't matter. A lot of shit didn't matter, not really. Daryl rubbed Paul's hand with his thumb for a moment, just thinking. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I don't want to right now," he said at last. "Wanna stay here, hunt, teach Dog what he needs to know, play with the girls." He chewed on his lip for a moment. "When we first got to Hilltop, Abraham said somethin'. Asked if I'd ever thought about settlin' down. I asked him if he thought shit was settled." Paul smiled softly, just a little bit pained. Daryl took a deep breath to push away the memories of that night on the road. "But now? It's settled. It's never gonna be more settled than this. I got… I got my family safe as they can be. Got you with me, here. Got the girls." He shrugged a little. "A fuckin' dog." He huffed a laugh. "I'm settled, 'n that's - that's okay." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"It is," Paul whispered. "It's the best feeling in the world. And you never have to leave those walls again if you don't want. I just - if you </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span>. If you need to. I'll go with you. Anywhere."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl smiled at him, just a little. "I know. But you gotta get better first." He kissed Paul's hand again. "Try 'n sleep. I'll be right here." Paul smiled, still tired, but he shifted and settled, never letting go of Daryl's hand, and shut his eyes to attempt sleep once more. </span>
</p>
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